


Belonging

by laisserais



Category: Vikings (TV)
Genre: Bathing/Washing, Blow Jobs, Canon Compliant, Coda, Exhibitionism, M/M, Wrestling
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-09
Updated: 2014-03-09
Packaged: 2018-01-15 04:19:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,599
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1291072
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/laisserais/pseuds/laisserais
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Episode coda to s02e02. Post 'Invasion,' Athelstan discovers blow jobs.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Belonging

* * *

**Belonging**

Later, they bathe in the river.

All night, Athelstan had helped to stack the dead English like wood--insult perhaps, but also practical. They'd carried their own dead to the shore and built a pyre.

Dawn is bleaching darkness from the sky when Athelstan can't take it any longer; he has to wash the blood off his hands.

He's sticky with it, and his muscles ache. Yesterday he'd seen his first battle. Taken his first life. According to Ragnar's beliefs, this means Athelstan has earned a place in heaven. If only that were actually true.

Every time he closes his eyes, he sees that man die again. Hears his screams. And every time, he sees Ragnar turn, surprised and unguarded. He would be dead now, if it were not for Athelstan.

And Athelstan hadn't hesitated.

And he knows he will do it again, if Ragnar needs him.

They're in the land of Ecbert, who is notorious. Athelstan believes in Ragnar's cunning in battle, but there are many tales of Ecbert, and none of them mention his defeat.

The water is ice cold, and it shocks him awake as he scrubs his skin. At the sound of splashing, Athelstan turns to regard Ragnar joining him, leathers discarded on the bank. He's wearing the grin Athelstan is accustomed to seeing when he is well pleased.

"Tell me more of what you know of Ecbert," he says, kneeling in the water to wet his face.

"He is undefeated, and smart. He was exiled to Francia as a boy, by the King of Mercia, but that proved to be more benefit than harm, for it was there Ecbert learned of governing and warfare, from the great king of the Franks, Charles. He came back and has waged a mighty war against the kingdom of Dumnonia, and against Mercia."

"If he is against Mercia, then we should be allies," Ragnar says, standing up and shaking water off like a dog. Athelstan follows him back up the bank, and they make a bed of their clothing. Athelstan stretches out in the sun and shivers; although the sun is warm, it will take a while to lose the cold of the river.

"Perhaps you would have been," he says. "Had you not killed his men."

Ragnar shrugs. "If he is as smart as you say, he will see reason. Our goals are the same. For now." Ragnar flops down next to him, props his head on a hand. "And if not, well, his land is surely just as rich for plunder as was King Ella's."

Athelstan squints against the sun. It's been more than a day since he's slept. He can sense Ragnar fidgeting next to him, and turns.

Ragnar is smiling at him.

"What?"

"You have proven your value on many occasions," Ragnar says. "But never has your counsel been more needed than now. I will be depending on you, as we explore this land, Wessex."

A warmth flushes through him at the words. Even now, after so long being a part of Ragnar's household, he can still blush at a compliment. It makes him feel foolish. "You did pretty well, talking with those soldiers. You understood them."

"I did," Ragnar says, and rests his palm against Athelstan's chest. "And that is because I had a very good teacher." He bends down and kisses Athelstan gently. His hand is warm, and Athelstan is suddenly aware of his heartbeat. Athelstan closes his eyes and lets Ragnar in.

He fits his fingers to the nape of Ragnar's neck, feels the fragile shell of his skull. They don't do this very often, but Athelstan finds that he always welcomes it. He is a far cry from the naive priest he once had been. Surging up, he pulls Ragnar closer, fits them together; his cock, already thickening, drags along the rough hair at Ragnar's groin. Ragnar's groans are evidence of his approval.

When he pulls away, Athelstan lets out a frustrated growl, hands clutching at Ragnar's shoulders to keep him still. Ragnar laughs, and thrusts against him a little harder, before holding off and saying, "You saved my life yesterday."

While this is true enough, Athelstan is puzzled as to why now is the appropriate time to discuss it. He digs his nails into Ragnar's arms. "And you saved mine," he says. "Come on, stop teasing me."

"I want to thank you properly," Ragnar says, with a wicked gleam in his eyes. He inches down Athelstan's body until his mouth hovers over Athelstan's cock. Athelstan can feel his warm breath ghost across the tip, and has to bite his lip to keep from coming. "Lagertha used to do this for me, from time to time. I think you will like it."

And then he opens his mouth and takes Athelstan all the way in.

For a moment, he forgets to breathe. And then Ragnar's hands grip his hips, because he's trying to arch up; he needs more tight, wet heat, and Ragnar can't stop, he better not stop. Blaspheming all the saints, Athelstan's staring into the sun, toes curled into the dirt, the feeling like no other--Ragnar's mouth. It's not even over, but Athelstan knows he's ruined for anything else after this. He'll be dreaming of Ragnar's mouth until the end of his days.

His lips are spit slick, stretched wide, and he looks up at Athelstan like he knows exactly what he's doing to him. Athelstan tangles his hands in Ragnar's hair, thrusting what little he's able, until he comes with a shout, nearly as surprised as Ragnar, who pulls off, coughing and laughing.

Athelstan is a wreck. As he watches Ragnar sit up, wiping the back of his hand across his mouth, he can't even form words. That was…

"You liked it, I see," Ragnar says, and his voice is hoarse. Athelstan did that to him, and the notion sends a throb through him that makes his cock stir, as though it could possibly be useful right now. "Just so you know," he bends to kiss Athelstan, and Athelstan tastes himself. "It's courtesy to warn your partner before you spend."

"Sorry," Athelstan manages. He's breathing like a horse after battle.

"Remember that for next time."

Next time, oh God.

Ragnar sits up and takes his cock in his hand. It's flushed red and leaking. Athelstan can't tear his eyes away, imagining what it would taste like. "Shall I?" He motions, as though to take it in hand, but Ragnar waves him off.

"This won't take long," Ragnar says, and strokes himself while running his other hand along his belly. He kneels up over Athelstan, watching him with a smile until his hand speeds up, and he tilts his head back to the sun, grunts, and comes. It lands on Athelstan's chest, and when he scowls, Ragnar laughs.

"You look good like that," he says.

"Like what? Naked and covered in filth?"

"Are you calling my seed filth? You should be honored, many women would beg to be in your position."

Athelstan gapes at him, unsure if it's joke, until Ragnar starts to giggle, and that makes Athelstan laugh. "Oh, mighty Jarl, I am the most honored in all Kattegat. I shall save your seed and treasure it always. Your potency is legend."

Ragnar leans on him, and they both laugh until Athelstan gets a stitch in his side.

Both dry now, Athelstan is again in need of a bath, but the idea of icy water is unappealing. He'd rather sleep, and says so, stretching out along the ground.

"Sleep? We have an army to rally. Leagues to cross. A cunning foe to plan for, get up you layabed." Ragnar, usually the first for a post-coital nap, is energized in a way Athelstan's never seen him. It reminds him a bit of a puppy, ready to play. Ragnar pulls on his arm, runs fingers through Athelstan's hair, and finally gives up and tickles him, all in an attempt to prevent him from his much-deserved rest.

"You don't need me to help you plan your war. That is what your King Horik is for, and your advisers. Go bother Floki." Athelstan turns away, settling on his side, hoping it will work and Ragnar will go away.

It doesn't. Instead, it provides Ragnar with an easy target, and Athelstan is startled awake by the bright pain of a smack to his ass. He sits up, indignant, and Ragnar is grinning, like he knows he's won.

"Oh, that's it. That is it, you think you can spank me?" Athelstan launches himself at Ragnar, pinning him to the ground as he seeks out all the ticklish spots he knows of: behind the knees, his ribs, his feet. Ragnar is laughing, batting his hands away, but not putting up a real fight.

It's soon apparent what effect such play has on Ragnar, and Athelstan eases up, his attacks becoming lingering touches. He can't stop thinking about Ragnar's mouth on him.

"Can I try...what you did. On you?" He's already hard, thinking of it. Thinking of what Ragnar will taste like.

"Please," Ragnar says, and bucks up against Athelstan's restraining hands. "It has been a long time since I've had it done to me."

Already taking Ragnar's cock in his hand, Athelstan bends to lick the head tentatively. It's salty. He tries again, pulling the foreskin back and taking more into his mouth. It's a heavy weight on his tongue, strange, but not bad. It twitches as he begins to suck. Ragnar sighs, hips thrusting shallowly, and all at once, it's too much, Athelstan chokes and pulls back.

"Ah! Watch the teeth," Ragnar says, hissing.

"You nearly choked me!" Athelstan's drooling, eyes running. He wipes it away, embarrassed. "Sorry, may I try again?"

"Practice makes perfect." Ragnar stretches his arms overhead, spreads his thighs to make room for Athelstan. "Be sure to keep your teeth covered, and go slow. You'll be a natural."

Athelstan leans in again, this time stroking Ragnar with his right hand, which allows him to control the depth, and closes his lips around the shaft. Careful to keep his teeth back, he sucks gently, all the while stroking the base of Ragnar's cock.

Ragnar makes encouraging noises, carding a hand through Athelstan's hair, fingers curling behind his ear in a way that makes Athelstan shiver. He gets bolder and takes Ragnar further into his mouth.

"Oh," Ragnar says. When Athelstan glances his up, he notes that Ragnar's eyes are closed. "Yes, like that. Fuck...Priest, that feels so good."

In others' mouths, his old nickname had always sounded like an insult. Like a taunt, meaning he would never be a true Viking, no matter how hard he tries.  But when Ragnar says it, in times like this, _Priest_ sounds like a secret admission of...well, of feeling. Maybe Ragnar doesn't mean it, but Athelstan fancies that he hears affection in the term. It awakens the bloom of love Athelstan carries in his heart, which is his own secret; one that he carries, never quite dormant, yet always banked to a slow burn.

 _Priest_ , on Ragnar's tongue, means something quite different to what it had once meant to Athelstan, and only God knows the guilt and confusion that causes him.

He thinks he's getting the hang of it. If he breathes through his nose, and goes slowly, he can almost take Ragnar all the way in. As he pulls off, he sucks, and the fingers curl on his neck, scratching encouragingly. Athelstan loses himself in the rhythm of it, feels the warm sun on his back, Ragnar's pulse beating quicker. He closes his eyes. There is nothing behind them now but dark silence.

"Athelstan, so good, so good." Ragnar's murmuring nonsense to him, carding his hair gently, and this is definitely something Athelstan wants to do as often as possible. Loves that it makes Ragnar still. Loves that he has all of Ragnar's attention focused on him for the fleeting moment they share. "You should try this on your woman. Lagertha made me learn to do it. It took hours at first." He laughs, and Athelstan can feel the muscles in his belly contract with it. "But she wouldn't do it to me until I had learned."

They rarely speak of her anymore. Lagertha. Athelstan misses her fiercely. And Bjorn, who must be a man by now. He wonders what they are doing, where they are. He wants to know what Ragnar thinks. If he misses her as much.

But he won't stop to ask. Doesn't want to break the spell they are under. There will soon be too many distractions; there may soon be death and bloodshed. They may never have this chance again, and Athelstan will not waste it.

Ragnar begins to lift his hips in time to Athelstan's motions, and Athelstan goes with it, relaxes his throat so that he doesn't choke. He notices that he's rubbing off on Ragnar's leg, and probably has been for some time. He's stiff and leaking; Ragnar doesn't seem to mind. This is different from the usual frantic pace they set. Languorous almost, which is why he can feel Ragnar's climax coming like he can sense a storm on the horizon, long before it arrives.

When the hands in his hair tighten and pull, when Ragnar's breathing quickens, and he can no longer hold in the noises, Athelstan pulls back, finishing him off with his hand, and watches Ragnar's face as he comes.

Ragnar smiles like the sun breaking through clouds, pulls him in for a deep kiss, and Athelstan notices two things at the same time: first, his jaw is incredibly sore, and he has apparently been drooling. Second, they are not alone.

The voice clears its throat again, and Athelstan turns to regard Horik, standing a little ways off, looking sheepish. "Ragnar," he says. "When you are finished, there is much planning needed."

Athelstan attempts to sit up, but Ragnar's hold is firm. Ragnar's grinning, unashamed. "Certainly. When I am finished, I will come find you."

Horik looks first at Ragnar, then at him, and back again. He makes a curt, embarrassed nod, and then turns to leave. "We have set up camp near the spread of oaks, up river."

And then they are alone again.

"You should go," Athelstan says. "They'll all be waiting on you."

"On us," he says.

"Us?"

"I told you, you are to be my right hand on this campaign. You know this land, its laws and ways, and its inhabitants. Your counsel will be necessary."

Stunned, Athelstan doesn't resist when Ragnar kisses him again, and when he begins to stroke him off, he lets out a surprised moan, which makes Ragnar laugh into the kiss.

"Come on, Priest, come for me." Ragnar's hands are firm and warm, unyielding as they play Athelstan's body like a well-known instrument. Perhaps, he thinks, Ragnar does know him. Maybe better than he knows himself. It's not a moment before he's coming, the long delayed orgasm rippling through him and making him blind.

"There, now we are even." Ragnar releases him, and Athelstan topples over. Ragnar runs a hand through the come on his stomach and flicks it at Athelstan.

"Hey!"

Ragnar gets to his feet and pokes Athelstan in the leg. "Get up, lazy bones, there is work to do."

Athelstan does, and he follows Ragnar back into the river for their second bath, and then up the bank to the stand of oaks, where they will convene a meeting to discuss strategy.

[The End]

* * *

 

**Author's Note:**

> *How hot was it when Athelstan spoke Old English, and then Ragnar understood it? So. Hot.
> 
> *I have this idea, that while in the intervening years between episodes 201 and 202, Ragnar occasionally went to Athelstan looking for comfort, it was on the rare occasions when all other options were exhausted. He'd be in the doghouse with Aslaug, and no serving girls were around. Usually he'd be drunk--either dealing with the weight of being Jarl, or celebrating the birth of a new son--and Athelstan never initiated. For this reason, what little sexual education Athelstan has, at least as regards sex with men, has been rushed and furtive. Usually he's just happy to give Ragnar whatever he wants. 
> 
> *Add to that the notion that Scandinavia is a place where people would rarely take all their clothes off for any extended period of time, and bathing wasn't necessarily an everyday occurrence, and I'm convinced that oral sex was an exotic, rare act. 
> 
> *I'm not saying Ragnar is selfish in bed, so much as I'm saying that anything beyond a handjob would have been a tremendous production, and would call attention to itself in a way that Ragnar's focus wouldn't have the patience for. So in my headcanon, while Athelstan and Ragnar may be familiar with each others' bodies by episode 202, there is still much territory to explore. 
> 
> *Also: I fudged some of the details of Ecbert's timeline, but we are dealing with a canon whose historicity is malleable, at best, so I doubt it's noticeable.


End file.
